


Call Me When You Get There

by AuditoryCheesecake



Series: A Cheesecake's Tumblr Shorts [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Fluff, Food, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Modern AU, Skyping, Trains, nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:19:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7285147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuditoryCheesecake/pseuds/AuditoryCheesecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trains, food, almost-love confessions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The identical private rooms on the passenger train from Val Royeaux to Vol Dorma are becoming his mobile office. The four full-time crew that staff the overpriced microwave cuisine kitchen have begun to recognize him. 

He tries to take up as little room as possible, standing in line for a cup of coffee and a plastic box of what can charitably be called salad as other passengers push through the cafe car carrying everything from briefcases to guitars to screaming children. Someone steps on his foot.

The things he does for Mae.

He pays approximately a fuck-ton for not nearly enough food and juggles the cardboard tray one-handed as he navigates the crowded cars between the cafe and his little sleeper room. 

His phone is ringing when he slides the door open, and he scrambles to pick it up without dropping everything. “Pavus.” He manages to put his cup on the windowsill without spilling scalding coffee on himself.

The other side is quiet. 

“Hello?” He opens his salad, awkward with one hand. “Anyone there?”

“Professor Randeux, have you hit mute again? You have to tap the button that looks like a microphone or I won’t be able to hear you.” He pulls the phone away from his ear to look at the screen. The number isn’t in his contacts. The area code is Fereldan, he thinks, but that doesn’t mean–

“Sorry, it’s just me.” It does. “Fuck, Dorian. It’s good to hear your voice.”

The movement of the train knocks the cup off the narrow sill and the coffee misses his leg by an inch. He barely even minds. “Bull,” he says. “Dare I ask why you’re not calling me from your own phone?”

“It’s Rocky’s fault,” he says, which probably means it’s probably at least half Bull’s fault.

“You’re calling me while I’m on a train to tell me that you broke your phone again.”

Bull laughs, and Dorian counts the weeks since they were last in the same place. He’d kissed Bull when he’d left the hotel room in the morning, pulling his clothes on in a rush, nearly late for his lecture. He might have said something that neither one of them had mentioned again.

“I’m calling so you have my new number. Which way are you going?”

“North. I’m giving the keynote at the International Conference this year in Vol Dorma.”

“Hot and smart as fuck,” Bull says in the way that makes Dorian flush right to his ears. “Guess that means you won’t be near the Frostbacks this weekend.”

The trouble with meeting someone in an airport bar is that you’re highly unlikely to cross paths again without considerable effort. They’ve been trying.

“No, I’m sorry.” It’s the most genuine apology he’s made in days. Bull has that effect on him.

“You'll watch me play, right?” He sounds like an eager kid sometimes. Dorian hasn’t been able to tell him how endearing it is. “I’ll blow a kiss to the camera every time I score.”

Dorian laughs and settles into the uncomfortable bunk. “You did that before we started dating.” 

“Yeah, but now it’s just for you.” There’s a hint of promise in his voice, and Dorian’s about to take him up on it, when his phone beeps alarmingly.

“I have to go, Bull. It really is Professor Randeux this time. He gets very distressed if I send him to voicemail.”

“You do what you gotta, kadan. Call me when you get to the hotel, alright?”

“I will. Bull–”

“Yeah?” Dorian can picture the smile on his face.

“Nothing,” says a coward named Dorian Pavus. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dorian garners some odd looks when he ducks out of the bar early. The physics department gets drinks together a couple Thursdays a month, usually after one of them’s graded a test and needs to be reminded of the good things in the world. Things like gin and hot wings and people who don’t confuse the Doppler effect for “doppelgangers.”

But he’s had plans for this evening for almost a month in advance, and though he sympathizes-- he really does-- he’s not about to miss this.

“There’s a reason why my lectureship is mostly a formality,” he tells Bull. “If they let me bounce around the continent and only talk to people who mostly know why they’re doing, I’m less likely to set term papers on fire.”

Bull laughs. Dorian can hear him moving around in his kitchen, though the view through the webcam is just a stretch of granite counter-top and a stainless steel sink.

“What are you making?” he asks. He’s finished a frozen dinner and moved on to sorbet, but Bull has a meal plan to follow, as well as more stringent opinions what constitute “making” food. Microwaving a plastic tray doesn’t count, apparently.

“Salmon with a butter lemon sauce. I add hot sauce to it, too, and I pair it with a white wine. You’d like it.” The sounds of sizzling fish come through the speakers.

“That sounds divine.” Though it’s not the food that’s the largest draw.

“I’ll make it for you next time you visit.” Bull’s face appears on his screen for a moment, smiling and relaxed. “Three weeks, right?”

Dorian nods. “I can’t wait, honestly.”

“Can I tell the boys they’ll get to meet you?” Bull tugs his laptop a little so that Dorian can see the stove-- and his hands, which hold far more interest. He’s confident as he slices and stirs and flips, and Dorian is reminded, intensely, of having those hands on him. 

“No pressure, of course,” Bull continues. “But I think you’d like them.”

“Yes,” Dorian says, quickly. “But I want you all to myself at least part of the time.”

“Naturally.” Bull grins.

“I have an outfit picked out,” Dorian says, just to watch the way Bull reacts, attention thoroughly grabbed. He’s all focus, that’s what people always say. There’s no one better on the ice than the Iron Bull, fully present. And Dorian gets that focus turned on him just by saying the right words. It’s gratifying, and electric.

“Yeah? Do I get a sneak peek?”

“Do I?” Dorian asks. “Plating is almost as important as flavor, you know.”

“Nerd,” Bull chuckles, as if he can’t hold out on the differences between fork sizes for hours at a time. Nevertheless, he holds up the computer, showing Dorian the fish browning in the skillet.

“Acceptable,” Dorian says fondly.

“My turn?” Bull teases.

Dorian turns on the lamp next to him, for better lighting.

Bull squints at the screen for a moment before his eye widens. “Is that my jersey?”

“Is there someone else on your team with the last name Ashkaari?”

“No.” Bull stares for a long time. “We can fuck while you wear that, right?”

“That was rather my intention.” He’d been nervous for a moment. What if it seemed too forward? What if it seemed too cliche? He knew that Bull had groupies. It probably wasn’t a new concept to him at all.

“You ever wear it out of the house?” Bull asks.

“Yes,” Dorian admits. “I was hoping you might sign it.”

“Hell yeah,” Bull says quickly.

Dorian smirks at him. “You like this a lot, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Is that a hint of color on Bull’s cheeks? Is he _blushing_? “I hadn’t thought of it, but-- I like knowing that you’re…” he trails off, waving his hands.

“It makes me feel closer to you,” he says quietly. “And I’m-- kaffas, don’t laugh at me, please-- I’m proud of you. Knowing you and-- being with you.”

Bull’s grinning wide enough to split his face in two. “Aw, kadan, I’m proud of you too.”

“Hush, you.” Dorian hides his face behind a large spoonful of sorbet. “Tell me about the wine you’ve picked to go with the salmon.”

“Sunblonde Vint,” Bull says proudly. “On the dry side, not too sweet, just enough body that it doesn’t overpower the flavor of the lemon…”

Dorian settles back and listen to him talk, lulled by the sound of his voice. It’s not perfect-- Bull’s in a different country, for one thing, but for now, he’s happy.


End file.
